Whiting: Mother fights to keep autistic son safe

Oct. 15, 2013

Updated Oct. 16, 2013 4:42 p.m.

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Charmaine Saunders with her autistic son, Sergio Serrano, 16. Saunders has been trying to get better treatment for her son who has been in a county facility since December 1, 2012. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Charmaine Saunders spends a Saturday with her autistic son Sergio Serrano, 16, at her home in San Juan Capistrano. Sergio has been in lockdown at a county facility since December 1, 2012 because he hurts himself when he gets angry. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Sergio Serrano,16, holds his mother's hand as they do a painting project together while visiting one Saturday from the county facility where he has been living since December 1, 2012. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Charmaine Saunders is buried in paperwork as she battles for the safety of her autistic son, Sergio Serrano, who has been in a county facility since December 1, 2012. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Charmaine Saunders spends a recent Saturday with her autistic son Sergio Serrano, 16, at her San Juan Capistrano home. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Self-inflicted Injuries Sergio Serrano received as a result of banging his head after becoming angry. Sergio, 16, is autistic and has been in a county facility since December 1, 2012. COURTESY CHARMAINE SAUNDERS

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Damage to the walls of Charmaine Saunders' San Juan Capistrano home was done by her autistic son when he became angry. PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Charmaine Saunders with her autistic son, Sergio Serrano, 16. Saunders has been trying to get better treatment for her son who has been in a county facility since December 1, 2012.PAUL RODRIGUEZ, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Past the pony rides in a pumpkin patch, one of the county’s most severely autistic teens shows his mother what he needs: A toy bow and arrow set.

With scars and scabs from self-inflicted wounds on his head, arms, legs, Sergio Serrano allows me to examine the suction-cup arrows. The toys are of a time when westerns ruled television and a bow and arrow set was all a little boy wanted.

It’s a melancholy moment that reminds me that our bodies can grow too fast for our dreams. In single-word sentences, Sergio tells Mom he will paint the toys red and white and, later, his plans make sense.

But for Sergio’s mother, Charmaine Saunders, there are things such as the Regional Center of Orange County’s treatment of her son that may never make sense.

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Saunders is a mother living on the razor’s edge between trying to do the best for her 16-year-old son and being utterly overwhelmed.

With her son confined to a state-funded lock-down facility most days, she shares, “I’m stressed out of my mind. I can’t get any correct help.”

Mom admits that she’s been injured – many times. Torn skin, injured neck, broken ribs. When her son’s around, she admits, “I live in fear for my life.”

Still, nothing stops this mother -- who gently strokes her boy’s shoulders, holds his hands -- from fighting for her son.

Her simple dream is to have her child in a facility where he is safe. But when it comes to a 5-foot-8, 225-pound teenager who violently attacks himself when something sets him off, nothing is simple.

Saunders believes the Regional Center for Orange County, which has helped manage her son for 13 years, is trying to shuttle him into a sub-standard facility.

Understand, Sergo doesn’t have the kind of tantrums when, say, a toddler doesn’t get his way. His outbursts are bloody and are caused by brain functions that medicine is only beginning to understand.

Experts believe there’s a link between autism and poorly functioning neural connections and synchronization. But what experts don’t know exceeds more than they know, especially when it comes to people such as Sergio.

At the pumpkin patch, Sergio wants his photo taken in front of a scarecrow. But before the shutter blinks, he screws his face into a sour look. Mom explains her son does that every time his photo is taken.

At 36 years old, Saunders is a single mother raising two teenage boys and struggling to make ends meet while working as a special-education aide. Yes, she knows her field.

We visit Saunders’ home in San Juan Capistrano. Strange plants grow near the front door. Sergio, Mom, explains, loves exotic plants and gardening. We check out the garage. It’s stuffed with what appears to be boxes of trash, stacks of papers, random piles of costume hats and helmets.

But look closer and you notice everything is perfectly organized. And if you know Sergio, you know that everything in the garage is his, that he remembers everything he makes and – most importantly – routine keeps him centered.

Paper is painted in streaks of blue and green. Plastic helmets are splotched with blue. Officer hats are painted brown, teal and green. Saunders picks up several pieces of paper stapled together and marked with endless numbers.

Sergio has calculated how much money he will have if he receives $1,000 every Christmas – not that he gets $1,000 – until he’s 115 years old.

The teen tends to move slowly, yet his mind constantly whirs. But when frustration takes over, he’s like the Marvel comic guy, Hulk.

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Autism sees a range of behavior as wide as human emotion. Some people with autism excel and go under the radar. They manage their lives without assistance and build solid careers, often in such occupations as computer programming that require fewer social skills. Others overcome tougher challenges and go on to tackle just about anything.

Sergio, his mother admits, will need lifelong help.

We walk into the cavernous Costume Castle in Lake Forest. Displays of witch, goblin and medieval knight clothing reach toward the ceiling. But Sergio ignores all the cool stuff and threads his way between isles. He knows exactly what he’s come for: a toy flintlock rifle.

Clutching the barrel, Sergio silently agrees to let me pull back the flintlock and pull the trigger. He calls the toy a Davy Crockett rifle and explains in single-word sentences that he plans to paint it, yes, white and red. I consider telling him that the natural color of wood is best. But with my wife in special education, I know better.

When possible, go with the flow.

I finally connect the dots, or at least most – Sergio is putting together a collection of 19th Century weapons. The bow and arrow sets? Native Americans were known to paint theirs. Painting the rifle? Perhaps it’s Indian-owned.

Saunders quietly says it was less than a year ago at this store that her son became so violent that police officers had to be called. Unable to buy all the gold doubloons, Sergio started smashing his head on the concrete floor.

As we approach the sales counter, I wonder if staff is afraid. Clerk Samantha Stone greets Sergio like an old friend, chatting and offering tips on coloring his hair green for Halloween.

It’s a lesson in giving and grace.

• • •

Saunders smiles easily. She tries to approach her son’s struggles with a sense of humor. But, in truth, she feels like she’s drowning in an ocean of worry and bureaucracy.

“My life,” Saunders says, “is in complete shambles because of the regional center.”

She explains that Sergio’s been a customer of the center for 13 years. In the last two years, Sergio’s been sent to live or visit group homes in Oakland, San Diego, Costa Mesa, Anaheim, Huntington Beach. He’s also lived with Saunders, but Mom gets injured when her son has an outburst.

Larry Landauer is executive director of the regional center, created after California’s four-decade-old Lanterman Developmental Disabilities Services Act. The act created a state-funded, privately-operated system of community care for people with developmental disabilities. Orange County’s branch is breathtakingly large.

Landauer oversees a staff of 384, with 2,337 vendors, a budget of more than $276 million.

Making it clear he can’t discuss specific cases, Landauer assures that the center is set up to put consumers and family first. That may be true. Some in the special needs community report the center has come a long way since Landauer took over four years ago.

According to a state-mandated survey, about 98 percent of local regional center clients said staff was “nice and polite.” It may seem like small praise, but for people such as Sergio, one’s approach can be critical.

When someone is in a self-injury state, Landauer says, options include a group home, crisis center, one-on-one supervision. The executive director also explains that in some cases, getting the appropriate level of care can be difficult and can take months.

Sergio currently lives in a crisis facility on the grounds of Fairview Development Center in Costa Mesa run by the Sails Group. Still, it appears that no one is satisfied with what is considered temporary housing. Saunders explains Sergio needs a homey, group environment.

Documents indicate that the regional center wants to place Sergio in a group home in San Diego. Saunders says it’s too far, too strange, has undertrained staff.

While there are no easy solutions, there appear to be plenty of well meaning experts as well as one exceptionally loving and determined mother.

For a boy who is becoming a man before he is ready, let’s hope this team can find Sergio the right home.

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